Sherlock New Years Drabble
by b0nehead
Summary: A short New Years drabble between the two Baker Street Boys. Fluff.


**Sherlock Drabble**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or any of the characters involved. I do not own the music either.**

**Music: 90-Mile Water Wall – The National **.com/watch?v=mSlpbJKZGcE

It was the final day of 2011. The air of London was filled and full to the brim with joy, excitement, happiness, and the stench of alcohol dawned upon most streets as the New Year's parties continued to play on into the night, along with the songs that are kept on the iPod ready for the end each and every year. People danced and laughed and drank, and even the most unsociable of people, Sherlock Holmes had decided twas the night to care less about work, and focus more on trying to enjoy a new experience of drinking with a friend – this friend being loyal John Watson.

It had all started two hours prior to 12 o'clock. John was busy tapping up the newest case (that Sherlock had solved within half a day) onto his small laptop very slowly as per usual, a whisky by his side, when Sherlock suddenly seemed to rise from his fetal position as quick as a whip to declare that he was bored. Much to John's surprise, Sherlock took no apparent interest in shooting more holes into poor Mrs Hudson's wall, but instead he fancied being what John called, "a normal person".

"The day, John. Remind me."

"It's New Years Eve, and _please _don't say you're serious. Don't you remember Mrs Hudson telling us how she used to spend it with her family every year?"

"My brain deleted it, trash."

After a few seconds of Sherlock pacing accompanied by an eye roll from John, the consulting detective clapped his hands together at his mouth.

"Yes! Of course, of course, of course. John, tonight we are going to have a party and we shall celebrate this coming of a new year."

"Sherlock, you do realize that we have—" quick glance at his watch "—less than two hours to have a party? Come on now, it's a bit late to be organizing this. How about you just pop down to the pub if you're that interested in celebrating?"

"The pub is going to be filled with _far _too many intoxicated idiots, and I'm not sure that I'm at all ready to have a pass made at me by some strange woman called Helen who is still married to her loyal husband Joe who is staying at home looking after their three children!" Sherlock wrinkled his nose, almost with utter disgust at what John had suggested, but this didn't last long, it never did last long, and soon enough, Sherlock's face was plastered with a wide, rare smile.

"Get the beer out John, we can improvise."

And that was all that John needed to hear.

Before long, a range of beer was set out on the table for the two to pick and choose at, and John had even taken a few cigarettes out of the hiding place that he had made to give to his friend as a New Years gift. It was the perfect gift, he had guessed, and as soon as he presented them to Sherlock, they were snatched out of his hands immediately with gratification and need, and for the next hour, Sherlock had disappeared outside for a long needed smoke.

John sat on the large sofa, gazing out into the night sky that appeared in the window in front of him, with a smoky-smelling Sherlock beside him, playing his violin. The two had gone through at least… five, six, seven beers together, and they were now in the blissful stage of drunkenness, something quite new to the detective. Every now and again, John would laugh, a result of watching his companion slur his words and let his head droop around sleepily. It was quite adorable. More than that, in fact. The way Sherlock smiled and fluttered his eyes at everything around him was so very captivating, and John took this opportunity to take in all of Sherlock's beauty. The parts of the other man that usually seemed quite ordinary and not very amazing appeared to draw John in the most. Of course, John had noticed the others' high, dark cheekbones, but never before had they appeared this defined.

"Ssh… Sherlock?"

A low purr escaped Sherlock's lips as he glanced over to his friend and smiled. He had now put his violin down on the coffee table in front of them and cocked his head.

"Yes, Johnny-boy?"

"Your cheekbones… "

The beer must have given John some Dutch courage, because without a doubt, he proceeded to trace his index finger over Sherlock's side profile, as if trying to see if it was all real. He needed to be reassured that this man was not an angel, or a hologram.

"…they are so well-defined. And mysterious."

To this, Sherlock laughed his hearty, rough laugh of his and raised one of his dark eyebrows with true interest, subliminally asking to hear more.

"Oh, do tell me more, John."

The average person would most definitely see this kind of interaction as one that two lovers would share, but no, this was "nothing" to them. Well, that's what they both had said to rumours of a relationship between them both. In fact, later on after this night, the two would state that they were merely "best friends" who had been pushed to try something new as a result of alcohol intake, and they certainly didn't care if people decided to talk about their apparent love for one another.

At least, that's what John thought would happen after that day.

Of course, they would usually deny all claims of a relationship, but tonight was not a usual night. This night was going to be different. The two men both knew it was going to be different as soon as the taller, leaner one of the two wanted to do something out of the blue, and neither of them wanted to object to any possibility of something interesting happening there and then. And so without hesitation, John did in fact tell Sherlock more.

Moving his hand towards Sherlock's hair, he wound his fingers into the dark locks and giggled, to which Sherlock laughed again.

"Your hair…" he muttered, eyes trying to capture and brain trying to remember everything he was seeing simultaneously.

"It's all curly. I like that."

John grinned widely. For someone that had operated in the army, he could definitely act like a small child, in awe of a large lollipop. He continued to wind his fingers into Sherlock's hair, and suddenly he pulled away, much to John's distaste. But not all was as bad as it seemed because in a half-second, Sherlock had made himself comfortable by moving over closer to John, sitting on him in fact, in his signature fetal position, snuggling into his warm chest, eyes shut and humming with pleasure and contentedness.

"John."

It was barely a whisper, but John made a small noise of acknowledgement to state that he had heard. But nothing could prepare the smaller man for what was said next. It was something he thought he would never hear once in his life.

"I like you."

John's eyes widened, pulse quickening rapidly, along with the smile that was growing larger and larger each passing minute.

"In fact, I really, really like you quite a lot."

That was it. From that moment on, John was never letting Sherlock go. And that was a promise to both himself and the detective. He had truly found someone worth keeping, who made his heart skip a beat, who brought the never-ending excitement into his life that he needed after the every-day adrenaline rushes that his work in the army had given him. And as the fireworks went off at the strike of 12, the Baker Street Boys smiled at each one other, and even though neither of them saw the other, they could both feel the bond they shared strengthen a lot more.

And the day John lost Sherlock at St. Bart's Hospital, he swore that he would never forgive himself.


End file.
